


fading in and out

by wearegoingtodie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst? Yeah, Hallucinations, Light Angst, Mental Health Issues, Psychological Trauma, References to Depression, Toby Smith | Tubbo is Not Okay, Trauma, Traumatized Toby Smith | Tubbo, Unreliable Narrator, a lot of these quotes are from a conversation i had with a friend, everyone is traumatized actually, hes been through too much, they all deserved better., vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearegoingtodie/pseuds/wearegoingtodie
Summary: tubbo angst? tubbo angst pog?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	fading in and out

Tubbo had always had vivid daydreams. Moments where he passively disappeared mentally to come back to chaos, hours and days spent almost dormant to everything around him. Disassociation, he’d once been told. Common in people with trauma. Common in people like him. (He ignored his declining mental state, though. It wouldn’t matter.)

They got worse after he became president. A mixture of trauma and stress. He was lonelier. Tubbo had no one-always the supporter and never the supported. So he let his mind take him to places far away from the anger and hatred spat at him through unpleasant smiles and clenched teeth. Tubbo let his mind replay conversations and create worlds of love and of peace. He let himself believe what he always wanted. And at the end of the day it did no good.

Sometimes, when he drifted off, he saw people. People he loved. People he hated. Sometimes he’d sit with them, listen to music. Sometimes he’d yell at them. Other times, silence wrapped around the mental presence until it was unbearable and he had to tune back into the real world. Sometimes he questioned them.

One time, he saw Ranboo. Ranboo was-is-his friend. His husband, technically speaking, but a close friend who he trusted with everything he possibly could. It was surreal seeing a colder version of the hybrid.

“Hello,” he called out, though he couldn’t remember his mouth moving or his brain agreeing to speak. “It’s cold out.” Ranboo regarded Tubbo with a tense manner, and the boy’s different-coloured hands clenched. The hybrid audibly swallowed.

“Hi,” Ranboo’s voice was croaky, as if he’d been shouting, and Tubbo winced, only having heard it that way once before. “I uh...I...am I supposed to know you?” Ranboo’s hands were so tight now that Tubbo would be surprised if they weren’t drawing blood, and his eyes were large, red and green staring into the other boy intensely.

“Are we supposed to know anything?” Tubbo once again couldn’t remember when he’d let himself speak or when those words had formed, but somewhere between it all they left his mouth. “Did you know only three percent of the ocean is explored?”

“I-what? Yes?” Ranboo’s face screwed up in confusion, but a slight huff left his mouth and his knuckles visibly relaxed.

“Yeah. Only about three percent is explored. What do you think lies in there? What have we not seen? Why are we not searching it?” Tubbo’s tone went from casual to slowly more and more questioning, his face staying the same semi-relaxed smile.

“...What if something big is down there?” The ender-hybrid prompted, leaning forward and rocking on his feet a bit as he did. His crown was askew, Tubbo noted. 

“I bet it’s cold…” Tubbo started, but Ranboo faded out to the sight of the prison once again. Where his enemy and friend both once laid.

Another time, Tubbo saw Tommy himself. He was a far cry from who he usually was, but not as traumatized as he was now that he was out of the prison. He was a medium between those people. (Were they even the same person?) Tommy had turned to see him, a half-melted compass death gripped in his hand.

“What do you think is beyond the Milky Way?” Tommy asks, and he’s so much quieter here. The sky sparkles above head and the sea by them splashed and the smell of salt filled the air.

“...The expanse of the world?” Tubbo prompts, watching Tommy’s dull eyes go back to staring at the compass. His hands were stained with red randomly but blue blotches seemed to paint their way down the boy’s face. (Sometimes Tubbo forgot he was a child, too. He’d seen too much war to consider himself a young boy.)

“It’s cold out there,” Tommy says, and the compass shines beneath the stars. “It’s silent.”

Tommy fades out and Tubbo is greeted with the community house burning into his eyes. Nobody came to the community house anymore. It was greeted with only fear, now.

A last time, Tubbo saw Wilbur. The man was in a field, sitting in a patch of cornflowers as bees buzzed around him. He seemed at peace. Like he was, far before L’manberg, and far before his death. (Tubbo recognized this field, but he pushed that down. He’d confront it…later.) Wilbur was laying down, arms sprawled messily in the flowers as he breathed slowly. Tubbo looked up. The sky was bright blue and not a cloud was in sight.

“That’s us, up there,” Tubbo says, and his voice is tired. He’s so tired.

“...It’s us,” Wilbur says. “It’s so warm here and so cold out there.” Wilbur’s eyes are glued to the sky and he sounds so much like Tommy did that Tubbo really wonders when he’d forgotten that the two were brothers. (Nowadays, they almost felt like the same person.)

“I wonder if there’s beauty on any other planet, too.” Tubbo says. Hie eyes close as he stands in this mild humidity. This might be the last time he sees the sun.

“Do you think other planets would like strawberry milk? Or singing?” Wilbur’s voice is far away but for some reason those words bury themselves in Tubbo’s head, squirming around until he finds an appropriate response.

“I wish they would.”

Tubbo fades out.


End file.
